Documentary filmmaking has traditionally fostered many great philosophical disputes over method and intent, but one of the most common points of earlier disputes now seems to have gone down the road of the buggy whip and the suitcase-sized cell phone. Back in 1975 when the Maysles brothers released their sad breathtaking Mother Daughter Portrait Gray Gardens, they were widely accused of exploiting their unsuspecting subjects by befriending them and then publicly ridiculing them. Similar criticism was leveled at Chris Smith for his inadvertently hilarious 1999 document American moviewho outshines indie filmmaker Mark Borchardt as a clumsy amateur simply by watching him work. But these days, that particular complaint seems a lot less common, if it’s because it’s filmmakers more sensitive to how their issues might be perceivedor because it’s so common for people to reveal their own lives online that we collectively transcend the notion that public visibility is intrusive or embarrassing.
Michael Wayne’s doc Batman and I could restart the discussion. His reserved look at an obsessive collector of Batman paraphernalia is only gently windy by comparison Gray Gardens. It unfolds with an intriguing specificity that goes well beyond the Batman details, unleashing many stimulating thoughts about the different ways and reasons people are associated with different fandoms.
But Wayne’s mildly dismissive, even dismissive, attitude toward his subject matter is particularly off-putting and seems designed to lure viewers into a similar mindset. At times it feels like he’s elbowing the audience in the ribs with a “Get a load of this guy!” message – and in the process potentially misunderstanding the audience and why they might be watching.
Wayne first made contact with Australian collector Darren “Dags” Maxwell online after reading it Maxwell’s self-deprecating website
Along the way, Maxwell shares some funny stories: describing how he literally bought a shirt off a man’s back at a convention, and how he got revenge on an ex-girlfriend by first eating the Batman cookies she gave him for him gave his collection. then by buying your own box to replace it. He also makes some startling revelations about the depth of his mania for Batman merch: among other things, he still stocks Batman ice cream bars from the 1980s in his freezer, and he keeps a taped milk container in his fridge dedicated to him an old chocolate Batmobile that he protects from blooming.
Other revelations cover what goes into the collector’s mindset. Maxwell describes the insurmountable need to accumulate things, regardless of their quality or usefulness. He goes through what got him into collecting in the first place, what turned collecting from a small hobby into a life-consuming focus, and what ended that phase of his life. He stopped buying new merch in 1997 because he found Joel Schumachers Batman & Robin so chilling: His entire collection focuses on the four Batman films from Tim Burton’s feature film from 1989 through to Batman & Robin
Maxwell describes his collecting phase as an attempt to buy into a community to make up for the holes in his life. He speaks with utter candor about his troubled childhood, a lack of meaningful family connections, and a strong urge to impress other collectors and be seen as an authority, not in relation to Batman but in relation to Batman memorabilia. He is open about how the fandom and his circle of collection-obsessed friends act as a sort of surrogate family where he can count on being seen as important and significant.
“Fandom and the sci-fi genre as a whole, that’s the only thing I’m good at,” he tells Wayne. “Outside of this community, I’m a nobody. I have nothing to contribute. I can listen to conversations people are having and I’m like, ‘You know what? I have nothing to offer to be part of the conversation. “I live a very limited life, I think.”
This extreme level of self-dismissal could do Batman and I quite a depressing film if Maxwell hadn’t delivered it with such cheerful aplomb and if he hadn’t been in a stable, supportive, happy relationship, with friends who share his interests and can talk about hugging and talking with equal calm and confidence Explore her geeky side. Even Maxwell’s openness about his hobby and his downsides feels like a boon to the film: he understands why people see him as a “loser,” but he also recognizes where his comfort zone lies and what it gets him. For a man who once wishes out loud that he could slap the little kid who had previously owned one of the used collectibles in Maxwell’s collection and written his name on it, he seems remarkably well adjusted.
All of this makes Wayne’s noticeable detachment from his subject seem odd. It’s not aggressive, but its offscreen narration betrays frank judgment and dismay at Maxwell’s life. And he explicitly suggests that Maxwell’s self-analysis is too sweeping and prepared, and that he is delusional about the depths of his mania, having kept his collection rather than selling it. When Maxwell laments that he has never seen what one of his toys looks like because if he had looked at the contents it would no longer qualify as “mint in box”, Wayne buys one himself and randomly unwraps and claps it together camera, in what feels like a malicious sneer. A striking shot above the closing titles, with action figures slowly falling one by one into a trash can, feels like a poignant editorial commentary on Maxwell’s life and the film as a whole.
All that power Batman and I feel more condescending and scolding than they need to be. Wayne captures some particularly revealing divisions in fandom, with Maxwell being judgmental about cosplayers and some cosplayers being equally judgmental about collectors. (Lore Sjöberg’s classic geek hierarchy comes to mind, with its overview of which subsets of fandom see themselves as superior.) The film also touches on a wealth of valuable themes, including how merchandising has radically changed to exploit nostalgic nerds for money , rather than targeting children, and the way some people use purchased items as physical bulwarks against accusations that they are not “real” fans. And it really captures the tension in Maxwell, between the version of himself that intellectualizes, rationalizes, and downplays his need for his room full of untouched toys, and the version that still hungrily clings to it, 25 years after he quit to add something .
But the audience most likely to be drawn to these issues is an audience that’s already invested in some form of fandom, whether it’s Batman, collectibles, or something else entirely. This cozy little document is probably too small and too specific for Gawkers and Rubberneckers, but it’s just the kind of mix of familiar interests and unfamiliar implementation of those interests that might attract other fans. Comic-Con audiences will find a recognizable mirror in it Batman and I, complete with a guided tour by one of their own, who has come to terms with his own extraordinary geekery and what it means to his life. It just feels odd that Wayne is condescending to this audience more than speaking to them.
Batman and I is available for streaming rental or purchase Amazon, vuduand similar digital platforms.